“You mean Buck? I guess. He’s got a pretty busy life. Mostly he stops by if he needs a meal. He has his hockey hookers to fill his time.”
“‘Hockey hookers’?” Alex smiles questioningly, but his eyes look troubled.
“You know, puck bunnies.”
His dimples stay in place, but the tic under his left eye gives away his disquiet.
Thankfully, our meals arrive and I dig in, happy to abandon the topic. My filet cuts like butter and tastes even better. Between decadent bites, I ask Alex about Canada.
“I grew up in a city called Guelph. It’s in Ontario.”
“That’s an interesting name for a city.” It sounds like a character from a Tolkien novel.
“It’s an hour outside of Toronto.”
I nod as if the geographical location helps place the name.
“Have you ever been to Canada?”
I shake my head, unable to respond as I’m chewing.
“You should come when we play Toronto next. I’ll take you to Guelph. You’d like it.”
My stomach flip-flops. We’re only halfway through dinner and he’s inviting me to future games. I’m only able to attend out of town games because Sidney’s company pays for the flights and the accommodations, but the thought is nice.
Conversation with Alex is easy. My life isn’t nearly as exciting as his, but he hangs on my every word as if I’m the one with the high profile life, not him.
He shares how difficult it is to be away from home all the time and how it makes relationships hard. I’m not sure if it’s his way of telling me this is only casual. I don’t have the guts to ask, either.
When he orders dessert, they bring two spoons. We only use one.
It’s late by the time we finish. Chivalrous as usual, Alex helps me into my coat at the door. He lifts my hair and brushes his lips across my neck.
As soon as I am secure in the car, my palms start to sweat. I have the urge to bolt or throw myself at him. Either seems like a good option. The latter better than the former.
Alex slips into the driver’s seat and turns to me. “I don’t fly out until early tomorrow afternoon. If you want, you could come to my place.”
“Your place?”
“Or I can take you home, if you’d prefer.”
“I don’t want to go home.”
“No?”
I shake my head.
“Good. I don’t particularly want to take you home, either.” His voice gets lower.
I stop breathing and wait for him to kiss me as he leans in. I’m not disappointed.
Neither one of us is buckled in, so we meet in the middle of the console and start making out. We go from kissing to mouth fucking almost instantly. I have a distinct feeling Alex may very well get to see my Victoria’s Secret purchases even without a freak windstorm.
ALEX
Violet tastes like chocolate and wine. Her lips are soft, and she does this thing with her tongue—there she goes again. I remind myself we’re in my car, in a parking lot; it’s not okay to get her naked.
Violet breaks the kiss. “Um, hi.” Her hand is on my chest, her face flushed. I’m almost all the way out of my seat, on top of her.
“Shit. Sorry. You taste really good.” Because that’s an excuse for jumping her in my car.
She licks her lips. “Thanks. So do you.”
I rearrange myself, and put the car in gear. “Let me show you where I live.”
In the past five years, I’ve been on a handful of dates where I’ve been interested enough to go on a second one. Of those, very few made it to the third date. Even fewer stepped foot through my door. While I might appear in the tabloids frequently, I prefer privacy in my personal life. I take back roads to the outskirts of the city.
“You said you didn’t have a lair,” Violet says as I turn into my driveway. The house is almost completely obscured by a bend in the drive.
I laugh. “I don’t. I promise.”
“You better not. I’m not into lairs.” The house comes into view. “Oh, wow. This is definitely not lairish.”
I pull into the four-car garage where I store my toys. There’s a Torino Fastback painted flashy orange with black stripes, a speedboat, two Sea-Doos, and a pair of four-wheelers.
“You have a lot of things with engines.”
“This is just the stuff I keep here. I have lakefront property an hour away and a cottage in Ontario with more water toys. It’s where I spend my time in the off-season.”
“Sidney has a cottage. I always picture them as being kind of run-down, like a shack or something. His is more like a house on a lake.”
“Do you ever go?” Maybe Butterson’s Facebook pictures came from a vacation there.
“We try to make the trip once a summer. I’m not very good at water sports.”
“Water skiing isn’t hard. I’m sure I could teach you.”
Violet snorts. “Yeah. I can barely get the hang of yoga, and you want to strap boards to my feet and drag me across water?”
“You make it sound dangerous.”